


Make Me Love Myself, So That I Might Love You

by FoxOfTheDeep



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Anorexia, Coming Out, Eating Disorders, Komahina - Freeform, M/M, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, and he still won the lottery or whatever, nagitos parents are still dead, nothing too graphic, some LGBTQ+ themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxOfTheDeep/pseuds/FoxOfTheDeep
Summary: Komaeda is not a healthy person with healthy habits. He's put into a situation that only worsens that, and increases the risk of someone, namely Hajime, finding out. What will he do when the lies he's built about himself start to unravel, and Hajime sees what Komaeda really thinks about himself?(Summaries have never been my strong point, I swear the story's more interesting than that)
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Mioda Ibuki/Nanami Chiaki
Comments: 57
Kudos: 241





	1. Hospital Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Gamers. This is a fic that I've sort of been conceptualizing for the past few days, so I decided to write it. Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nagito gets caught up in, you guessed it, a hospital stay.

Komaeda Nagito being in the hospital wasn’t particularly surprising. At least, not from his own perspective. To those around him, it looked like he’d just gotten heat stroke and that was it. 

It had been a nice, sunny day when Nagito collapsed on school grounds. Medical services were called and Nagito was taken to the hospital. Simple as that. Maybe he was just dehydrated, and the heat of the sun got to him.

Upon waking up in the hospital, Nagito was overcome with a wave of nausea. There was a weak feeling in his arms, and his stomach felt like he’d been on a carnival ride. He was in his shirt and boxers, his jacket and jeans having been taken off.

His arms and legs were exposed.

At least, they would be, if it wasn’t for the blanket that covered them.

Glancing at a wall clock, he saw that it said 2:30 p.m. His classmates would be getting out of school around now. _What if one of them comes to visit?_ he thought. However, he quickly dismissed that idea. _Ah, I’m not nearly important enough to be visited,_ he told himself. He breathed a sigh of relief. He sat idle, waiting for some hospital personnel to come his way and dismiss him. He closed his eyes for a minute or two. Maybe it was more. Then he heard the sound of a door opening. 

Snapping to attention, Nagito watched Hajime Hinata, along with a nurse, walk into his room. His fists gripped the blankets. Hajime rushed over to his bedside.

“Komaeda!” Hajime exclaimed. “You alright?” he asked. Nagito smiled warmly.

“Haha, yeah, I’m alright. I must’ve been dehydrated,” he claimed. Hajime sighed, apparently relieved.

“Is there anything you need?” Hajime asked. 

Nagito answered, “Ah, yeah, could you hand me my jacket?” As Hajime began reaching for it, the nurse stepped in.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” she said, “But I can’t allow you to do that.” Nagito’s blood ran cold for an instant. He was sure he showed it on his face, but he quickly regained his composure. The nurse spoke again, “We’ll need to briefly keep Komaeda here for some quick tests.”

Hajime nodded and said, “Oh, alright. Text me when you get out, Komaeda!”

“I will,” Nagito said, probably lying. The door opened and closed, and Hajime was no longer in the room with them. The nurse turned to Komaeda.

“Hello, Komaeda. We’re going to run some quick tests, alright? You’re 17, correct?”

His throat feeling constricted, he nodded and made a small sound of approval. She continued.

“Would you mind taking the blanket off so I can take your blood pressure?” she asked. Dizzily, he sat up. Sliding his left hand out from under the blanket, the nurse put one of those constricting blood pressure things on his wrist. After a moment she spoke again.

“Your blood pressure is low. Could you get up and stand on the scale so I can take your weight?”

He contemplated his options. Saying no would be suspicious. Getting on the scale would show how underweight he was. But, could he play it off?

Reluctantly, he got up, keeping his arms folded. He stepped onto the scale, which doubled as a stadiometer to measure height with. It read 113 pounds. But Komaeda already knew it would.

The nurse reacted calmly. “How much do you typically eat in a day?” she asked. 

Nagito shrugged. “I just eat whenever I’m hungry enough,” he said, feigning ignorance.

The nurse looked up at his face, “Are you aware that you’re currently 12 pounds underweight?” she asked. 

Komaeda said, “Nope.” Unassumingly, he thought. The nurse may have thought differently.

“Are you on any medication?” she asked. Komaeda thought a bit.

“I’m on some long-term medication for asthma,” he said. “Ah, but I’m not sure what it’s called,” he added, smiling lightheartedly.

“Besides asthma, do you have any preexisting medical conditions?”

“Not that I know of,” he lied.

The questioning continued in that manner for some time, the nurse writing down information all the way. It bored Komaeda nearly to death, though he was tense all throughout. Nearly every fleeting thought was _When can I leave?_ He felt so dizzy and nauseated, but he managed to keep his composure. At some point, Komaeda sat back down, though he couldn’t remember when.

Eventually, the nurse said, “Alright. I’ll go get the doctor. He’ll have a look at you, then you may be free to go.” She exited the room. Her use of the word “may” didn’t incite feelings of excitement in Nagito, but he still tried to hope for the best. He’d be on his best behavior, and the doctor would let him free. That would be it.

Nagito had to sit in the room for a while waiting for the doctor. It wasn’t that bad at first. But soon enough, he had a pounding headache from the chorus of silence in the room. He wanted to cover his ears and scream, shout. It was too quiet in the room. How long would the doctor take to arrive?

Komaeda lay on his side, curled into himself, hands on his ears. He could hear his pulse pounding in his brain. His eyes were shut too tight. He tried to relax so he could at least take a nap, but his body remained tense. It frustrated him, the onslaught of noise. He sat there, trembling for an indeterminate amount of time. It felt like the day had ended. He nearly didn’t hear the doctor come in.

Nagito quickly sat up, a slight nervous smile on his face. It only worsened his nausea. The doctor closed the door behind him.

“Komaeda, is it? I’m going to require you to fill out this form,” he said. Immediately, Nagito disliked him, but he took the clipboard the doctor handed to him. It was a bunch of intrusive mental health questions. He picked up the attached pen and began to fill it out.

“I notice you’re left handed,” the doctor said. Nagito looked up and gave a small nod before continuing to write. “Did you know that only one in ten people are left handed?” the doctor asked. Nagito made an expression feigning surprise.

He handed back the clipboard. He had lied on nearly all of the questions.

The doctor spoke again, “Thank you. Now, I hear that you’re 12 pounds underweight? Why is that?” Nagito shrugged.

“I just eat when I feel hungry enough,” he mumbled, repeating his answer from earlier. The doctor said, “Mhm,” like his answer was unsatisfying. It made Komaeda nervous. 

More questions of the same caliber were asked. The doctor prescribed him some anti-depressant medication of some sort, also writing dosage information. Komaeda tried to politely decline, but the doctor insisted, slipping the paper into Nagito’s jacket pocket. The doctor also asked for Komaeda’s phone number for if any further contact was needed, and Komaeda reluctantly gave it to him. His clothes back on, he left the room.

“Have a nice day,” were the doctor’s words as he exited the building. Komaeda wanted to shout. But he didn’t. He stood outside for a minute.

Nagito wouldn’t have wanted to call Hajime if it weren’t for how tired he felt after his unplanned hospital stay. He’d gotten a glance at the time as he’d turned his phone on: 5:53 p.m. Komaeda would’ve typically felt terrible calling that late, but he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t collapse again if he tried walking home.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

“Hello,” he heard Hajime’s voice on the other end. “How are you doing, Komaeda? I was kind of scared for a minute, haha,” Hajime laughed nervously. _He doesn’t want to deal with this right now,_ Komaeda knew. He questioned if he could just hang up now and spare Hajime’s time and energy.

“Komaeda? You there?” Hajime asked, and Nagito knew he had to answer.

“Yeah, I’m here, ahaha! I’m fine!” he said. He heard Hajime sigh slightly and his nervousness returned immediately. “Ah, I don’t have a car, and I’m kind of tired after being in the hospital for that long. Would you mind picking me up?” Komaeda fully expected Hajime to deny, saying he was busy or some such. _An excuse is excusable if it’s an excuse to avoid you,_ Nagito thought to himself. 

To his surprise, Hajime said he’d be on his way. He hung up, and Komaeda took a seat on a nearby bench. _Maybe it’s not too late to say ‘nevermind’. I could probably walk home myself, anyway_. Nagito was sweating with nausea and anxiety. _He’s probably only doing this out of some presumed obligation. If he didn’t feel like he had to, he’d leave trash like me to die out here._

Nagito stood up, and his vision went blurry instantly. His mind was all static -- all white noise. He could barely see anything. His head hurt, and he felt like throwing up. He held his temples and ears. His stomach churned with nothing but acid. His eyes were shut tight.

Slowly, he reached out his hand, searching for a firm hold on the bench. He gripped it tightly, stabilizing himself only slightly. His body shook, and his legs were locked in place. _I need to situate myself before Hajime arrives and sees me,_ he realized, panicking. 

Komaeda slid down and placed his back against the front of the bench. He began to breathe through his mouth. He wiped some sweat off his forehead. He opted to wait until Hajime arrived, instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter! Hope you enjoyed, I've got more on the way soon. Please leave a comment or kudos, it really does help to get writers motivated. Thanks again, and bye for now!
> 
> Feel free to message me on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/foxofthedeep
> 
> (as in i encourage you to message me i'm so lonely)


	2. I Can't Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nagito arrives at home thanks to Hajime's help, and something goes wrong almost immediately

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's not as long as the last one, and it's also not as eventful (i don't think) but nagito has an asthma attack, so there's that

Hajime arrived not much later, at 4:00 p.m. By that point, Nagito had calmed down some, and his head hurt significantly less. Standing up slowly, he made his way to Hajime’s car, and knocked on the window to the passenger’s seat. Hajime unlocked the car, and Nagito opened the door and sat down inside. 

“Hey, Komaeda. You look a bit paler than usual. Do you want me to get us some refreshments from, like, a drive-thru?” Hajime asked. 

“I’m fine, thanks though,” Nagito responded quickly. “You can get something for yourself, though. I don’t mind waiting,” he added. Nagito considered asking Hajime to stop at the pharmacy nearby, but only briefly. As much as Komaeda truly enjoyed Hajime’s company, he didn’t want to take up more of his time than he had to.

Hajime started the car, and drove the route from the hospital back to Nagito’s apartment. On the way, he stopped at a McDonald’s drive-thru. At Hajime’s insistence, Nagito asked for a small water, and they continued on their way. Hajime began making small talk.

“Ah, so, you’re better now? After passing out and stuff?” he asked. Nagito knew that his presence was stressful for Hajime, but answered anyway. It was the least he could do to keep Hajime from feeling even more awkward than he must’ve already felt.

“Yeah, don’t worry. The doctor just suggested I drink more fluids,” he replied, smiling. Hajime nodded, “Cool,” and continued to drive. Nagito wanted to scream in the awkward atmosphere that he created, as he often did.

Upon parking on the street near the front of the apartment complex, Nagito got out of the car, purposefully leaving his small water in the cupholder, and waved goodbye to Hajime as he drove away. Nagito sighed. Walking on weak legs to the front door, he made his way inside and took the elevator up to his room. On arrival, he collapsed onto his bed.

He was so fucking tired.

But he guessed that was just his luck.

He saw no point in staying awake, so he let his tired body drift into sleep. It felt like he was asleep for only an instant.

After waking up, he remembered very little of his dream. All he knew about it was that it was vague and psychedelic. And that he woke up with a fever.

Looking at the clock on his bedside table, he sighed seeing that it was one in the morning. His warm and cold body longed to fall back asleep, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t seem to manage. Instead he laid in tired, feverish delirium. 

The sounds of the automatic air conditioner scratched the inner workings of his mind to bits. It was such an unnecessarily tormenting noise. His tired hands reached his ears, but the exposure to the air outside of the blanket made them cold. So, instead, he pulled his head under the blanket and curled up. 

Not after long, it was too warm, and he was breathing barely any fresh air. He tried to ignore it, shutting his eyes and focusing instead on the comfort of the blanket, the softness of the bed -- anything that could get him to fall asleep. But it came to a point where he couldn’t ignore it when he felt his throat was narrow, like he wasn’t getting enough air. 

He tried to breathe in, but ended up coughing and wheezing. Still coughing and barely receiving any air, he slid his head out from under the covers and propped himself up on his side. Whenever he tried to breathe, he felt a tight sensation in his chest, followed by more coughing. He sat up, his back against the headboard of his bed.

His eyes scanned the room for any place his inhaler could be. He didn’t remember where he put it -- he had no clue where he would. _Fuck,_ he thought to himself. Komaeda’s hand fumbled over the knob to his bedside table’s drawer, pulling it open. It was filled with papers and knives, but no inhaler.

Almost clawing at his throat, he forced his body out of bed and dragged himself through his living area and to the medical cabinet in his bathroom. _It has to be here somewhere,_ he hoped. It would be stupid to die in such a meaningless way. 

He searched the medicine cabinet, pushing everything out of the way and knocking some things over in the process. Unsuccessful, he hunched over his sink and grabbed at his throat. He tried desperately to fill his lungs with as much air as he could.

Making his way out of the bathroom, he went back to his bedroom upon remembering where someone as stupid as himself may have left it.

Once there, he tried to safely lower himself so he could look under his bed. There he spotted it -- his pale green inhaler lying on the floor. He reached out and grabbed it, dizzily pushing himself up into a sitting position.

One inhale.

Shaky exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

And with his last inhale and exhale, he breathed a nervous sigh of relief, feeling the cold sweat on his skin. He glanced up at his clock out of habit. 1:42 a.m. Only 40 minutes had passed since he first woke up.

Realizing that he likely wouldn’t be going back to sleep now, he put his inhaler on his bedside table. He laid on his bed and started up his laptop. He would be content with bored satisfaction for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter :). I'm going to try to update this before the end of every week, so stay tuned for that. Hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> Feel free to message me on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/foxofthedeep
> 
> (as in i encourage you to message me i'm so lonely)


	3. School Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nagito wakes up and goes through a school day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont worry he'll eat something soon i swear. the romance though? who knows when thatll happen lmao

Komaeda woke up later at around 5:00 a.m. with his laptop on his chest. He’d likely fallen asleep without realizing it.

Closing it and placing it on his bedside table, he stood up and stretched, ignoring the static that filled his mind. Today was Friday, so he’d have to get dressed for school early enough to catch the bus. He slipped out of his casual clothes and changed into his school uniform, grateful for the lack of mirrors in his room.

Grabbing his bag, he left his room and took the elevator downstairs, leaving the building and walking to the nearest bus stop. He sat there for a while, playing subway surfers on his phone as he waited.

When the bus pulled up in front of him, he stood up and paid to enter. As he made his way inside, he spotted Chiaki Nanami, a fellow student, asleep while holding one of the handlebars. Komaeda made his way to the empty handlebar beside her, preparing to wake her up in time for their shared destination. He wouldn’t want Chiaki to be late because of a fault on his part.

He saw other students of Hope’s Peak Academy enter the bus, like Kazuichi Soda and Mahiru Koizumi. Unsurprisingly, none of them interacted with Nagito, even seeming to go out of their ways to avoid being too near to him. But that was to be expected.

Just before their final stop, Nagito lightly tapped Chiaki on the shoulder. She stirred slightly, her eyes sleepily opening. “Ah, thanks, Komaeda,” she yawned. “My sleep’s been ruined recently… I can barely get my eyes closed at night.” Nagito smiled and nodded sympathetically.

“Chihiro’s got this… coding thing for some competition that she goes to in the mornings. I think she’s working on some sort of robot. I can’t imagine having to be up that early almost every day,” she said, yawning again.

“She’s so accomplished, even if she’s only in the year above us,” Komaeda chuckled. Chiaki nodded, and the bus stopped. The pair made their way off and to the front of the school.

“Hey, Hajime,” Chiaki greeted, seeing the back of Hajime’s head in front of them. He turned around and greeted her back.

“Hey, Chiaki. Hi, Komaeda,” he smiled. Komaeda waved at Hajime. 

“I wish school would just end already,” Hajime complained. Chiaki nodded in agreement.

“School ending would give me a lot more time to play video games and sleep,” she said wistfully. “I think I want to start livestreaming games,” she added.

“That sounds like fun,” Komaeda agreed. He liked supporting his classmates in their interests. It was the least he could do as a self-proclaimed stepping stone to fill others with the confidence and hope to achieve their ambitions.

In the end, wasn’t that all he was good for? To be a catalyst to the success of those around him? Even if he wasn’t, that was all he wanted to be good for anyway. To contribute to the lives of the talented people surrounding him -- that was his dre-

“Komaeda, you… you good?” Hajime asked. Nagito snapped out of his trance-like state and laughed awkwardly.

“Ah, yeah, sorry. I just spaced out for a bit,” he apologized.

“You started laughing for a few seconds. It was kind of strange,” Chiaki noted.

“Sorry, I’ll be more careful,” he nervously chuckled. _I really should be more careful. It’s not like me to be so reckless. Maybe I should have a few bites of something low-calorie_ , he considered, his body almost instinctually shuddering at the thought. 

They went inside of the school and to their homeroom classes, which was the only class Komaeda shared with Hajime. Literary analysis.

They were also in class with students in the grade below them. There were a few cool sophomores in the class. Shuichi Saihara in particular, who was a big fan of literature in general.

He and Shuichi didn’t talk all too much, which was understandable. But when they did talk, it was usually about books. Nagito and Shuichi both had an affinity for mystery novels, so they got along well enough. It was nice to keep company, though Nagito didn’t understand why Shuichi tolerated him. 

Sitting in a seat near Hajime, Komaeda reached into his bag and pulled out the latest installment in a Horror/Mystery series he was reading. He hadn’t bothered with the required reading for class since it was something he’d already read.

Flipping page after page, his mind unwittingly pieced together various clues as to the identity of the story’s killer. It wasn’t too difficult to find if you knew what to look for -- if you already had a suspect in mind.

“What’s your book about again?” Hajime asked as the teacher sat down at her desk. Nagito smiled politely.

“Ah, this is the newest book in the mystery series I told you about,” he explained. “In this one, the main character is suspected for second degree murder. It’s quite interesting. Oh, but I don’t mean to ramble, haha.”

Hajime waved his hand dismissively, “It’s fine, dude. I’m the one who asked.”

“Oh, sorry,” Nagito apologized. Hajime sighed, and Nagito could feel his hands sweat.

“Good morning, class,” the teacher called, grabbing everyone’s attention. “I know it’s Friday, but don’t let that stop you from working hard.” The class collectively groaned. They were all tired.

The teacher called roll and continued, “Now, let’s get started. I’m going to assume you’ve all done the required reading…”

Nagito stopped paying attention, his tired body dragging him down, compelling him to lay his head on his desk.

A tap on the shoulder snapped him out of it momentarily. His head lifted to face the teacher, who cleared her throat and asked him a question.

“If you’d like to tell us, what did the dyeing of the cape symbolize?” she asked.

Komaeda sat up and coughed. “Ah, she dyed her cape white, right? So, it was a symbol of her dedication to the cult and their obsession with purity.” The teacher nodded.

“Mhm. And, why haven’t you died yet?” she asked. Nagito blinked.

“Ah, could you say that again?” he confusedly responded.

The teacher sighed, “Are you deaf? What exactly compelled her to dye it?”

“Oh,” he began. “Her love interest was killed by a group that opposed the cult, so it was sort of a final push.” The teacher nodded again, heading back to the front of the classroom.

“Good,” she continued. _If I sleep now, that might happen again,_ he sighed inwardly. It wasn’t worth it to sleep at that point, so he just kept himself barely awake until class ended. When it did, he began to walk with Hajime to the hallway their classes were on, but felt a tug on his sleeve.

“Ah, Komaeda?” The voice asked, which he recognized as Shuichi’s. Komaeda turned to respond. 

“What is it, Shuichi?” he inquired.

“Well, we only really see each other this time of day, so, I was wondering if you had a phone number I could contact?” Shuichi asked, ending with a lilt. 

“Ah, sure. I can give it to you after school, if that’s alright.” Nagito responded. Shuichi nodded, “Thanks,” and went into his own hallway.

“Can’t believe you hang out with children,” Hajime said as they continued walking. 

“Ah, yeah,” Komaeda said, slight shame in his tone. Hajime sighed lightly.

“It was a joke, sorry.”

“Oh.”

Komaeda wished he was better at picking up on humor and tones of voice. Maybe then he would be better at holding a normal conversation. Then again, that probably wasn’t the only thing prohibiting conversation. Maybe just his presence was enough to fuck up any interaction.

Komaeda parted ways with Hajime at his class. He stepped in and sat down. The only classes he found engaging were his first and his last period, solely for the fact that he chose them himself. Even then, they could be boring sometimes.

It just seemed like he was growing less interested in everything he did.

He waved at Fuyuhiko when he entered, who didn’t wave back. Which, of course, wasn’t surprising.

Komaeda stayed on autopilot for the rest of his mandatory classes, breezing through the boring material. He was only completely in control during the two classes he shared with Chiaki. She was an engaging storyteller and a good listener, for as little as Komaeda talked of his own volition. He appreciated her company.

Then came time for his last period of the day: theatrical arts. It was another mixed grade class, but this one included all grades. Nagito and another student, Ibuki Mioda, both had the same last and second to last period, so they walked down together.

Ibuki was a loud person, in style and personality. But she was comforting to be around, to a degree. 

“Hey, hey! Does Nagito have a crush on anyone?” she asked as they walked downstairs.

Nagito pondered for a second, coming up empty, before asking Ibuki, “Are you asking me because you have a crush on someone?” Ibuki pressed her fingers together.

“Nooooooo,” she responded. Nagito guessed it was a joke, but he couldn’t quite tell either way, so he left it alone. 

Inside the auditorium, class started. Nagito sat next to Ibuki and Kokichi Ouma, a sophomore. He didn’t know what quite to make of Kokichi. Mostly, he just seemed like the joking type. That, and a bully of sorts.

Kokichi leaned over and whispered to Nagito, “I heard you fainted. What are you, iron deficient?” Komaeda didn’t know what to make of that because it wasn’t even a good insult, but he shrugged his shoulders anyway.

“Leave it to me to collapse for no reason, right?” Nagito laughed somewhat awkwardly. Kokichi grinned. 

“I wouldn’t say _no_ reason,” Kokichi said ominously. Kokichi couldn’t know, right? He barely even talked to Kokichi. He didn’t see how Kokichi could know, so he played dumb.

“ _I_ don’t even know what reason you’re talking about,” Komaeda lied. 

“Mhm,” Kokichi hummed, turning his attention to the teacher, who was calling roll. “Sure.”

Komaeda really didn’t know how Kokichi knew, or if he didn’t know and was just messing with him. Probably the latter, Komaeda rationalized. But in the event that Kokichi did know, what would he do? He doubted Kokichi had the resources or the intent to help, as if anyone could help anyway.

Maybe Kokichi was someone to be wary of. At least for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thamkie for reading this chapter. i actually really like this story (although i'm not exactly sure where the plot's headed). i hope you guys are enjoying it so far!
> 
> check out my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/foxofthedeep


	4. Gamers And Geeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nagito basically orgasms holding makotos hand except its fine because he doesn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so glad that people like this fic so far :) thanks to quarantine i've had tons of time to write. this is actually the farthest i've gotten into a story haha

Theater ended up making Komaeda more tired than usual, which was maybe something he should’ve considered. _At least I had a bite or so of lunch_ , he thought to himself contently. 

Walking out of the auditorium and to his locker, he half paid attention to Ibuki’s story about starting a band with a senior and a sophomore. He congratulated her and waved a small goodbye as he grabbed his things. 

It made Komaeda somewhat happy to think that Ibuki enjoyed being around him, but it was more likely that she just wanted someone quiet who would listen to her. Oh, well. He got his stuff and left the building.

“Hey, hey, Nagito,” Chiaki greeted, catching up to him outside. “There’s this cool new multiplayer game coming out. Once I get it, do you wanna play with me?” she asked, an expectant gleam in her eyes.

“Ah, you would want to play a video game with me? I’m not very good at them, unfortunately…” Komaeda admitted. Chiaki wasn’t deterred.

“No, it’s totally fine. From what I’ve seen, the game’s designed to be really easy to pick up for casual players, or people that don’t play at all. It’s one of those easy to learn, hard to master types. I’m sure you’d catch on quickly. You’re already pretty intuitive,” she said assuredly. Komaeda didn’t know what to make of the compliment, so he ignored it instead.

“I’m flattered you’d let someone like me join you,” he said gratefully. “If you insist,” he added. Chiaki smiled.

“Thanks, Nagito,” she said. “Wanna sit down?” she asked, pointing to a bench. Komaeda nodded approvingly and they sat down, silently enjoying the other’s company.

Although Komaeda enjoyed spending time with Hajime, he preferred spending time alone with Chiaki. Hajime often looked exasperated around Komaeda, especially when he said anything explicitly self-deprecating. 

Komaeda didn’t know exactly why, but he had learned to be less self-deprecating around Hajime anyway. He didn’t want Hajime to be unnecessarily tired, especially not directly because of Komaeda. But Chiaki didn’t seem to mind much, if at all. She rarely acknowledged it.

It was sort of a similar situation with medical personnel. There were more important people that deserved their time and energy. So, he always downplayed any injuries or symptoms. He had a high pain tolerance anyway, so he was usually fine. It wasn’t a big deal.

“Hey, Chiaki. Where’s Hajime?” he asked. Chiaki pondered a moment.

“Um, he should be in the office for something. I think,” she answered.

“Ah, that’s unfortunate,” Komaeda sighed. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone with blue hair and a baseball cap. 

Standing up, he called out, “Ah hey, Shuichi!” Shuichi turned to answer, a relieved smile on his face.

“Hi, Komaeda,” he replied. Komaeda took out his phone.

“Here, I can give you my phone number now,” Komaeda said cheerfully. Shuichi took out his phone and they exchanged contact information. Afterwards, Shuichi thanked him, and headed home. Around that time, Hajime walked out of the building.

“Ah, Hajime! What happened? A murder, perhaps?” Komaeda attempted a joke. Hajime rolled his eyes and Nagito thought maybe he just doesn’t get humor.

“No, nothing like that. I yelled at a kid and got an office referral is all,” Hajime sighed. “It was stupid.” 

“Hey, Hajime, do you want to play a game with me and Nagito when it comes out? It looks really cool,” Chiaki asked.

“I don’t know what it’s about, but sure,” he answered. To an extent, Nagito wished he could be like that. That blindly confident. It almost made him want to laugh. _Born into a life with more talent, maybe_ , he thought to himself almost bitterly.

Chiaki’s eyes lit up. “So, from the promotional material and the gameplay footage that’s been released so far, it looks like it’s gonna have a buncha different modes to choose from,” Chiaki began explaining. Her love of gaming was admirable. To have so much passion about something…

Komaeda zoned out slightly as Chiaki explained the different modes of gameplay. There was a story mode, and adventure mode, and even different games within the game. Komaeda had to give credit where credit was due, it did sound pretty fun the way Chiaki described it. He absentmindedly checked his watch.

“Ah, Chiaki,” Nagito interjected softly. “I hate to interrupt, but the bus will be stopping soon. We should head over.” He tried to make his voice sound as apologetic as possible. She checked her phone clock.

“Oh, you’re right,” she said, standing up and stretching. “We should get going. See you, Hajime!” she called as the two began walking away.

“Bye, guys!” Hajime called back. 

On their short walk, Nagito saw a certain machinery fanatic already standing there.

“Ah, Kazuichi!” Komaeda greeted, perhaps too enthusiastically. Kazuichi rubbed his glabella tiredly.

“Dude, no offense, but can you shut the hell up for once? I really don’t wanna hear your bullshit,” Kazuichi sighed. Nagito, slightly taken aback, backed off.

“Ah, sorry, my sincerest apologies. For someone like me to try and talk to you-”

“Did I not just say shut the hell up!?” Kazuichi nearly shouted. Nagito stayed quiet, tapping his hand against his knee. However, he was happy that Kazuichi could at least set boundaries. That was encouraging, in a way.

Others arrived, and the bus ride home was uneventful. He went to his room and changed into casual clothes. He texted Shuichi a quick “hello”, hopping on his laptop. He had weekend homework, but that could definitely wait.

Komaeda checked for any updates on authors he was following. There was nothing much, save for the usual “working on a new book” or “going on hiatus”. Bored, he closed his laptop and stared up at the ceiling. He heard a notification sound on his phone. It was a text, presumably from Shuichi. He opened it.

“Who is this?”

“Ah, sorry, it’s Nagito Komaeda.”

“Oh, hi! Shuichi here”  
“Where’d you get that book you were reading in class? The third installment in the mystery series?”

“There’s a bookstore near where I live that happened to have a copy.”  
“There might be another one there. If you’d like, I can buy it and you can come and pick it up.”

“You don’t have to do that”

“It’s no inconvenience, really.”  
“Unless I’ve overstepped my boundaries, in which case, I apologize.”

“No its fine”  
“I can pick it up from your house? If your parents are cool with that”

“Ah, I live alone in an apartment. So it’s fine.”

“Ah, I’m really sorry, I didn’t know!”

“No need to apologize.”

“Okay cool"  
“Yeah I can pick it up”  
“Just let me know where and when”

“Alright.”

With that final message, Nagito stood up. He was lightheaded, but he was sure he could endure it. He grabbed his bag and wallet, heading downstairs and outside once again. He walked a moderate amount to the bookstore, hearing the bell ring as he opened the door. He looked around, and his eyes widened when he saw who was there.

Makoto Naegi was a senior at Hope’s Peak Academy. 

He was a senior, and on a whole different level than Nagito. 

There was something, some quality of Makoto Naegi that enamoured him. Makoto was proficient in nearly everything he tried at. He was so talented, it was admirable. Makoto was almost like if Nagito were born into a life where he wasn't such a disappointment.

No...comparing him to Makoto was unfair and insulting. Perish the thought.

Nagito cursed himself internally for not dressing and grooming himself nicer. There was little he could do to make himself look better, but if he’d known Makoto would be here, he would’ve _tried_.

Komaeda’s feet walked to Makoto seemingly on their own. His hands grabbed Makoto’s fondly, catching his attention. Nagito was practically unaware when words began hopelessly spilling out of his mouth.

“Wow -- it’s a real honor. Ah, forgive me sir, we- we share the same hopeful nature. No, wait -- that’s not right -- yours far outstrips mine,” Nagito began, already making a fool of himself. 

“Though I’m quite lucky to have you as a colleague. Sorry -- upperclassman, sir,” Nagito rambled on, with no recognizable response from Makoto besides confusion. He had no clue what he was doing. He was just tainting Makoto with his _sweaty, filthy_ hands…

Makoto’s clean, perfect hands touching his own…

It was an impure dream of his…

And yet…here was that dream in action…

 _What utter bliss_ , he thought to himself lovingly.

Unsurprisingly, Makoto had pulled his hand away from Nagito’s while he pointlessly continued on. Makoto may have even walked out of the store, but Komaeda couldn’t tell. He was holding onto a bookshelf and leaning much of his weight onto it. 

Nagito was breathing heavily, his lightheadedness getting much worse. He might’ve been laughing to himself. Then he felt a sudden cough, bringing him back to reality.

Komaeda began to breathe through his nose. He couldn’t risk an asthma attack this far from home without his inhaler, so he tried his best to moderate his breathing healthily. He remembered why he was here.

 _How selfish of me_ , he thought disappointedly, _to indulge in my own disgusting desires. I’m here for Shuichi._

As it turned out, there was in fact another copy of the book available. He quickly paid for it and put it in his bag, heading home as efficiently as he could, suppressing coughs. 

As soon as he returned home, he used his inhaler and decided to take a shower, feeling just how sweaty he was. He was already acting inappropriately in front of Makoto, no need to lessen Shuichi’s opinion of him as well.

He finished his shower as quickly as he could and texted Shuichi his address. Shuichi arrived soon after, when Nagito heard a knock on his door and went to open it.

“Good afternoon, Komaeda,” Shuichi greeted.

“Same to you, Shuichi.” Nagito greeted back, briefly inviting Shuichi inside.

“This place is well kept,” he complimented.

“Ah, really? I’m glad you think so,” Komaeda thanked him, taking the book out of his bag and handing it to Shuichi. 

“Thank you for getting this,” Shuichi shyly thanked him.

“Don’t mention it, it was no problem,” Nagito said. They said their goodbyes, and Shuichi left. 

Komaeda was glad that he could be useful to someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i based the scene where komaeda holds makoto's hand (and nagito's general infatuation with makoto) off the dr anime, specifically this scene: https://youtu.be/kIBBJGI11Fw?t=39
> 
> i hope you guys liked this chapter as much as you seemed to like the last ones, because i really enjoy writing this :)
> 
> (don't worry, this is still definitely komahina. nagito meeting makoto in the bookstore is a catalyst event)
> 
> (also, do let me know if nagito seems ooc or extreme compared to other chapters)
> 
> Feel free to message me on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/foxofthedeep


	5. Pretty Much The Opposite Of Self-Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **TW: Self-harm**
> 
> Nagito unhealthily deals with his thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know the tags says that the self-harm isn't graphic, but this chapter may contain stuff that's a bit much for some people. If it is, you can skip to where it says "Oh, Hajime."
> 
> Also, you guys are hopefully gonna get two chapters today. I separated them because I want to make sure each chapter isn't too long for people who get bored somewhat easily, and keeping them together would make one chapter over 3000 words. so, stay tuned for that later.

Later that day, Komaeda was still buzzing not only from his interaction with Makoto, but with the feeling of usefulness he gained from helping Shuichi. He knew it was unfair to give himself so much credit, so much self-satisfaction. But he could barely help it.

He was feeling uncharacteristically happy.

Too happy.

He should fix that.

Nagito dizzily opened the drawer on his bedside table, where he kept an assortment of small knives and other sharp objects. He picked up his favorite one -- a reflective knife. It shined with so many bright colors. Its purpose was almost ironic.

He made his way to the bathroom, a room which he knew from experience would have the easiest cleanup. He sat on the cold tile, back against the wall. It made him shiver.

Unsleeving his right wrist, he took a moment to admire the damage he had already caused. It was disgusting. He was disgusting. What would one of his acquaintances say if they saw this?

Sighing, he lowered the knife onto his pleading wrist. He relished in the relief for a moment, making a deep cut. He watched as the blood rolled off of his arm and onto the tiled floor. He made another.

Another.

Another.

Another.

Another.

With each cut, he purposefully avoided his vitals. His only purpose was to cause himself pain. To put such a gross, abnormal, trashy, _disgusting_ creature back in its rightful place.

He made 18 total, one for each person he was sure hated him. Makoto, Shuichi, Kokichi, Ibuki, Chiaki, Kazuichi, Gundham, Sonia, Akane, Nekomaru, Teruteru, Mahiru, Hiyoko, Fuyuhiko, Peko, Mikan, the one who called themself Imposter, and _definitely_ Hajime.

Oh, Hajime.

What would Hajime do if he saw Nagito like this?

He’d scold Nagito, definitely. Maybe even berate him. Call him _stupid_ and _selfish_ and call an ambulance or the police. But it would be fine, because it was always fine. It always turned out the same way.

Komaeda was slipping into unconsciousness. But he fought to stay awake. He needed to be sure he didn’t bleed out. Dying like this? Shameful. But maybe that was what he deserved.

He shook his head drowsily, trying his best to snap out of it and stand up. He only succeeded in pressing his foot uselessly against the ground. He sighed, which almost made him pass out. His heavy breathing was distracting.

He carefully took off his jacket and wrapped it around his mangled arm. He tied it as best he could in his delirious state, trying to apply pressure to the wound. He closed his eyes.

Maybe he went overboard.

Maybe he deserved whatever happened to him.

What was he saying? This wouldn’t kill him. It never did.

His mind finally succumbed to sleep. He could clean up in the morning.

-

Komaeda woke up covered in blood, his favorite knife stained red on the floor. He recalled what had happened last night, cringing when he tried to move his arm. It was so sore. He should have been more careful.

He pushed himself off the wall, catching himself against the sink. There were bandages and gauze in the medicine cabinet. He placed them on the counter. Untying his jacket from his arm, he methodically applied the medical supplies instead. His arm was a disgusting sight, but he tried not to focus on it much.

When he was finished, he put his jacket in the sink and filled it with cold water to wash later. He got a rag and dipped it in the sink, beginning to wash the floor. He picked up the knife and put it on the counter as well.

After a short while, he realized that scrubbing a floor was tiresome and nearly impossible when not only have you lost a lot of blood, but you rarely eat anything. Reluctantly, he made his way to the kitchen. He saw Shuichi -- or was it Hajime? He couldn’t tell -- standing there. He moved closer.

No.

Wait.

There was no one there.

He lived alone in his apartment.

He was the only one who had the key.

He rubbed his eyes, head pounding. When he opened them, the figure he thought he saw faded out of existence. It was strange and surreal.

Komaeda walked towards the pantry, grabbing a bag of uncooked oatmeal. He put a pot on the stove, pouring some water in and turning on the heat. He poured half a cup of oats, wincing at the amount of calories. 

79.

He dumped them into the water, stirring slightly, and then laid down on his bed. He picked at his bandages.

Stopping himself, he checked his phone. It was 10:27 a.m. He had two texts from Hajime, and one from the doctor’s office. His blood ran cold.

Nagito checked the texts from Hajime first, saving what he assumed to be the worst for last.

9:32 a.m.

“hey komaeda. can we meet up later today?”  
“There’s this restaurant near the park we can go for lunch”

Nagito replied, his clammy hands shaking.

10:28 a.m.

“Of course, Hajime. I would be honored to spend time with you. We can meet at noon, or any time you prefer.”

“noon works. you dont have to be honored to spend time with me. we’re friends”

Komaeda chuckled harshly to himself. What a funny lie, he thought melancholily. Next was the message from the doctor’s office.

8:30 a.m.

“This is an automated message. We would like to schedule an appointment with you for tomorrow at 2:30 p.m. Please type the message “Okay” to confirm. Please type “Reschedule” followed by a date to push back the appointment a maximum of seven days.”

“Reschedule Saturday, May 16th.”

Komaeda typed the message with clumsy hands. He would have to go into the doctor’s office next Saturday. He didn’t want to do it Sunday. Not only would that leave him tired for Monday, but that was also the day Chiaki’s game came out. He didn’t want to disappoint her by not even being there to play the game with her.

Putting that aside, the appointment also meant Komaeda would likely have to pick up the medication prescribed for him. He wasn’t looking forward to it. He turned off his phone, setting it down. He looked to his side.

There stood the figure again, watching him. Komaeda tried to analyze its face, coming up empty. It was there, but at the same time, it wasn’t. He would have had an easier time analyzing it if it were invisible. It had no identifiable features. None that Komaeda could see, anyway.

Then, he heard it speak in a garbled, deep voice. He could barely make out the words being said. But his brain clicked them into place, clear as day.

“Why wasn’t it you?”

Every thought Komaeda had -- every thought he tried to have -- was replaced with an emptiness. Nagito blinked and it disappeared once again.

Nagito knew what it was referring to, of course. The plane crash that took his parents’ lives. Komaeda had spent countless hours considering the “what if?”: What if it had been him? It would have only been beneficial to everyone involved. Not only would his parents have lived, but they wouldn’t have to deal with him.

A slightly unpleasant, slightly appetizing smell broke him away from his thoughts. He wiped his face, unaware that he had even been crying, and walked to the kitchen. He turned off the heat and put some oatmeal in a bowl, grabbing a spoon on his way to the living area. 

He sat on the couch and just stared at the bowl. After far too long he had eaten a few bites and was just revitalized enough to do the tasks. 

He checked the time, and alarmingly found that it was 11:07. He didn’t have that much time to get ready for his outing, and it would be rude to cancel on Hajime.

He put down the bowl, not bothering to clean it, and went into the bathroom. _I may as well clean my jacket if nothing else,_ he thought as he began mixing the now lukewarm water with hydrogen peroxide.

He scrubbed vigorously for an indeterminate amount of time. Then he was struck with another realization.

How would he dry it? He didn’t want to go to the common area. It was always loud down there.

Komaeda took the jacket out of the basin, seeing that it was thoroughly rinsed, and grabbed a blow dryer from the under-the-sink cabinet, plugging it in. He hung the jacket on the towel bar and began to blow dry it.

He was done around 15 minutes later. Komaeda put on the jacket, although it was still a little damp, and checked the time once more. It was 11:47. Komaeda left the apartment.

He could clean up the rest later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! this chapter may have been a bit boring in the latter half, but i needed a way to resolve most of what happened in the beginning. Hope you guys stick around for chapter 6!
> 
> Feel free to message me on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/foxofthedeep


	6. Restaurant Hangout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Komaeda and Hajime go to a restaurant, and Hajime has a request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: Vomitting**
> 
> here's the chapter i said i was gonna post yesterday. sorry for not doing that, i just got really tired midway through writing it whoops.

Nagito took the bus to the park, walking the rest of the way to the restaurant. There, he saw Hajime checking his phone before looking up and waving to Komaeda.

“Hey, how are you?” Hajime greeted.

“Ah, you know you don’t have to worry about me. How are you?” Nagito deflected. Hajime sighed, apparently not wanting to get caught in a loop of “How are you”s.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Hajime conceded. “Let’s go ahead and go inside,” he said, gesturing to the door.

The two walked in, sitting at an empty table. Komaeda was nervously sweating, which he was sure Hajime could see. Nagito awkwardly positioned his right arm under the table, not wanting to make it more sore or to distract Hajime.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Nagito asked casually.

“Ah, nothing much. Just wanna… y’know, talk,” Hajime said, which did nothing for Nagito’s nerves. A waiter arrived at their table and Komaeda forced the name of the lightest looking food out of his mouth. Hopefully he’d only have to take a few bites at most. He looked over when he heard Hajime take a deep breath.

“Okay...so...Komaeda,” he began. “I might...need to stay the night at your place,” Hajime said, with the end of his sentence sounding like a whisper. Nagito did an auditory double-take.

“Huh?” he asked. Hajime sighed defeatedly.

“I think I’ll need to...spend the night at your apartment,” Hajime admitted, resting his head on the table.

“Ah, I’m honored, but, why exactly? If you don’t mind my asking, of course,” Nagito questioned. He was worried about many things in his apartment, not least of which being _How am I going to clean up the blood on the ground before he sees it?_

“Well, it’s kind of a long story, but basically I was mad at my parents and stormed out,” Hajime said, his face lightly tinted pink. It suited him.

“You couldn’t just go back?” Nagito asked in a desperate attempt to get Hajime to reconsider. Hajime went even redder.

“Well- I mean, I could, technically, but, like- I don’t really...want to. And you’re, like, one of my closest friends, so…” Hajime trailed off.

“Ah, you’re too kind. You shouldn’t play up someone like-” Nagito was cut off by Hajime’s glare, daring him to say another word. Nagito cleared his throat.

“Ah, I’ll let you stay over. It’s no problem, really,” he said. Hajime sighed with what seemed like relief.

“Thanks, Komaeda,” he said, glancing to Nagito’s side. 

The waiter arrived with their drinks and appetizers not much later. Hajime began to eat as Nagito hesitantly took a sip of his water. _How the fuck am I going to clean up the blood? And what about the bowl on the table? Hajime will think I’m disgusting if he thinks I just leave dirty dishes laying around the house. Even if he’d be right, I don’t want him to-_

Nagito coughed, choking on his water.

“Komaeda, are you okay?” Hajime asked, alarmed. Nagito tried to nod his head as the coughing died down.

“That’s just fitting for someone like me, aha,” Nagito lightly laughed.

“What do you mean by that?” Hajime asked, hard concern etched in his face. Nagito thought he felt his heartbeat stop.

“Ah, well...someone like me, who’s, well...clumsy, and dumb, and unable to pay attention, and, ah…” _trash. Disgusting. Worthless. Disgusting. Not worth your time._

“Nagito…” Hajime reached out to touch him on the shoulder.

Nagito?

_Nagito?_

His disgusting name coming out of Hajime’s mouth? He didn’t deserve that.

But Chiaki called him Nagito. How was this…?

Komaeda felt his saliva getting thicker, and his face warming slightly. He leaned his face against his hand, not making eye contact with Hajime.

“Nagito. I’m really serious. I hate when you talk about yourself like that. All the ‘someone like me’ stuff. Can you...stop?” Hajime asked. _He said it. He hates me. I knew it. If only I hadn’t said anything, now Hajime’s stressed over someone as lowly as me. Why? Why can’t he stay with someone else? Why did he come to me if he hates me? Why? I don’t...why? How? Why am I…?_

“Nagito,” Hajime said, forcing Komaeda to look at him. “Can...you stop?” he asked, and it felt like a genuine question. Nagito shook his head, willing any tears to stay back. He’d already done enough. He didn’t need to cry too. His stomach churned. He felt like throwing up. He was so selfish, talking about himself. Why couldn’t he have just focused on Hajime. Why was he so stupid. Fuck. _Fuck. **Fuck.**_

Hajime’s hold on his shoulder softened. Nagito placed his hand over his mouth, unsure of whether he would actually throw up or not.

“Nagito, I...why not? Can you tell me?” Hajime said, and Nagito hated how much he liked it when Hajime said his name. What was wrong with him?

“I…” Komaeda began, attempting to speak. “I’m...not…” he shook his head vigorously. He didn’t know if he could say another word.

“Okay,” Hajime sighed. A waiter came by and awkwardly placed food on their table.

“Listen, you should eat something. Do you think that’ll make you feel any better?” Hajime asked. Nagito, unwilling to disappoint Hajime yet again, feebly picked up a fork and poked at his salad. Hajime let go of his shoulder, and Komaeda was saddened at the loss of contact.

Nagito poked into a leaf and put it into his mouth. He swallowed it down with bile as Hajime watched.

Suddenly, Nagito shot up. His legs knocked against the underside of the table, startling Hajime and some of the other restaurant patrons. But he didn’t have time to care.

Nagito rushed towards the “restrooms” sign near the back wall, navigating through the tables as best he could.

He got to the back wall and pushed open the door to the men’s restroom, covering his mouth as he gagged. Komaeda quickly made his way into an empty stall, not bothering to close the door as he dropped to his knees and threw up into the toilet. He shivered as he retched painfully.

After a few seconds, he heard the restroom door open behind him.

“Nagito? Are you alright?” asked the voice belonging to Hajime.

“I-I’m f-” Nagito was interrupted mid sentence as another wave of nausea overtook his body, and more vomit came grossly spilling out of his mouth. Hajime found him and rubbed his back sympathetically.

When Nagito was finished, Hajime flushed the toilet and helped him to stand. Komaeda didn’t have the energy to fight, almost leaning on Hajime for support. They made their way out to the restaurant area and to Hajime’s car.

“Wh-what about the check?” Komaeda asked faintly.

“I already paid, it’s fine,” Hajime answered. “Do you need my help getting into the car?” Komaeda shook his head and Hajime let go of him. Komaeda opened the door to the passenger’s side of the car and slid in.

_I ruined this outing. Hajime shouldn’t have to put up with me. Why does he willingly subject himself to this?_

The car ride home was relatively silent. Neither of them dared make a move for the radio.

On arrival at the apartment block, Hajime parked his car on the street. The two of them headed inside and Nagito felt like he would throw up again. There was no way he could hide it. The blood.

They took the elevator up to Komaeda’s room. He immediately passed out on his bed, feeling too weak and helpless to do anything about the situation now.

Nagito was always so fucking tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoyed :) the plot is moving forward now, which is an unexpected development


	7. Early Morning Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Komaeda wakes up early and disrupts Hajime's sleep (aka he has a panic attack kind of but i can't really deescalate these kind of things so. but hopefully it's got enough angst to overlook that part)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's a bit shorter than i expected it to be, but here you go, goblins. feast. enjoy

When Komaeda woke up, it was 4:19 a.m. Hopefully that meant Hajime would be asleep and he’d have time to clean the bathroom. That was, of course, assuming that Hajime hadn’t been to the bathroom in over twelve hours, which Komaeda himself recognized was irrational. 

He got up anyway, trying to quietly shuffle through the living area, mentally berating himself when he realized that he had inadvertently made Hajime sleep on the couch. What kind of terrible host was he?

Creaking open the bathroom door, he felt a sense of panic creeping up his spine.

The bathroom floor was clean.

Komaeda didn’t want to face the reality of what that meant. But he had to eventually, right?

Hajime had seen his disgusting mess of blood splatter on the tiled floor, and had _cleaned_ it? There was no way he didn’t know why there was blood on the floor, was there? Hajime was smart. He was attentive. 

What was Nagito supposed to do in this situation? Hajime would be staying over until he woke up, at least. And Komaeda wouldn’t want to force him out. He had no place to. 

What if Hajime didn’t even see it? Or know why it was there? Improbable as though it was, Nagito had to cling on to any hope he could feebly grasp.

Grasp.

Grasp…

Grasping.

Nagito’s hand was tugging roughly at his jacket, scratching his shoulder, his neck -- any involuntary movement he could use to release the tense energy building up within him. He barely noticed his shallow breaths until he had to gasp for air.

Komaeda leaned against the wall, trying to regain his breath, and failing miserably. He dropped to his hands and knees, his head foggy and his vision unfocused. He dragged himself in the direction of his bedroom, collapsing about halfway there from overexertion.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to keep his breathing down or lower his heart rate or _something_. He was barely even conscious when he felt a stirring in the room.

“K-Komaeda…?” A voice groggily called out. Why here? Why now? _Is the universe so determined for me to make a fool of myself in front of Hajime?_ he though feebly. His breathing got heavier.

“Komaeda?” Hajime -- no, Hinata, Nagito didn’t deserve to be on a first name basis with him at this point -- said, louder this time. He must’ve heard Nagito hyperventilating on the floor, because why wouldn’t he? Nagito’s attempts at concealing it were futile.

Nagito vaguely saw the outline of Hinata standing up and looking around before focusing his eyes on Nagito in a pathetic, disheveled mess on the ground.

“Nagito! A-are you okay?!” Ha- Hinata exclaimed, crouching down beside him. Komaeda laid still, his hazy eyes focusing on Hinata’s out of focus features.

“Okay, you’re breathing, you’re breathing, can you hear me?” 

Nagito tried to croak out a response, lazily nodding his head to go along with it. He couldn’t bring himself to his senses enough to feel as awful as he should’ve for worrying Hinata so much.

“Okay okay okay, uh, do you-” Hinata placed his hand against Nagito’s cheek and continued, “do you feel this?” Komaeda reached up to place his hand on top of Hinata’s, holding it in place as well as he could. He admired the warmth of Hinata’s touch. Komaeda breathed through his mouth, closing his eyes…

“Hey, wait, Nagito! Don’t sleep- c-can you talk? What’s, uhh, what’s my name?” Hinata asked frantically.

“H...Ha…” Komaeda breathed, finding some senseless humor in the noise. He chuckled, his laugh manifesting in sharp wheezing sounds.

“Nagito, please, try to say my name,” Hinata pleaded. Nagito looked up into Hinata’s desperate eyes and felt something in him soften.

“H-Hinata,” Komaeda said, and Hinata’s eyes filled with relief. 

“Oh thank goodness, I’m so glad,” he sighed. Komaeda, in his confusion, began to laugh again, speaking in fragmented sentences between each ill-timed giggle.

“Glad? For- _haha_ \- for someone like me?” Nagito said as Hinata’s brow stiffened. “You must be- you must be _crazy!_ ” Komaeda laughed out, clutching his stomach tightly as he wheezed at the irony of it all.

“Nagito, c’mon, you shouldn’t talk about yourself that way.”

“Wh-why not? It’s only fitting for someone as- _ha_ \- as lowly, as insignificant, as _disgusting_ , as _worthless_ as myself! Wouldn’t you agree?” It felt so good for Nagito to verbalize his feelings. If Hinata already hated him, what was the harm in going all the way? 

The fear in Hinata’s eyes said something different.

“Nagito, what are you saying?? Y-you’re not any of that stuff, please, I promise!” Hinata exclaimed with such almost convincing bravado that it was impressive.

“It’s f-fine, Hinata, I- _haha_ \- I’ve already come to terms with it! You don’t have to lie to protect my feelings! You can tell me how much you hate me -- how much you wish I didn’t exist -- and you’ll feel all the better for it!”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Hinata yelled as loud as he could without disturbing Nagito’s neighbors. “I don’t fucking hate you! Don’t fucking say that! I-I promise…” Hinata said, his voice heavy and breaking, choked up with poorly held back sobs.

“What? But why not?” Nagito questioned, genuinely confused. It didn’t make sense. Everyone had to hate Nagito. Because he deserved to be hated. He deserved to be kicked, shoved, or however else anyone wanted to take their anger out on him. Hinata’s reaction didn’t make any sense. It just... _didn’t._

Hinata was silent for a moment, like he didn’t know how to respond. Then, he started crying, and Komaeda’s heart broke. He didn’t want to fucking make Hinata cry. What kind of selfish, stupid asshole-?

“Why on earth would I hate you?” Hinata asked, hiccuping softly, tears making their way down his cheek. Komaeda had emotions knocked into him, and he looked away from Hinata’s face guiltily. When it was clear that Komaeda couldn’t answer Hinata’s question without saying something horribly self-deprecating, he dropped the subject.

They sat in a tense silence for moments, Hinata crying and Nagito on the brink of tears himself for being so disgustingly selfish in his feelings. He thought he knew how Hinata felt, but he should’ve known better. He couldn’t match someone like Hinata’s wavelength, and it was foolish to think that he could. 

When Nagito was about to apologize, Hinata interrupted him.

“Can… can you stand?” he asked quietly. Nagito controlled his limbs just enough to lift himself into a position where he was sitting cross-legged, already fatigued. He was still holding Hinata’s hand to his cheek, which was somewhat awkward as he shook his head tiredly.

“Can I help you?” Hinata offered. What Komaeda wanted to say was _“You don’t have to do that, you’re too kind, you should just go back to sleep!”_ but he couldn’t muster up the energy. 

Instead, he nodded and tried to hide his blushing face as Hinata put one of Komaeda’s arms over his shoulder, and one of his own arms around Komaeda’s waist. Hinata walked both of them over to the couch and sat them down, and Nagito felt a vague warm feeling at their intimate proximity.

“Do… you want to watch a show or… something?” Hinata suggested. When Komaeda nodded, Hinata grabbed his own laptop from on the floor and let go of Komaeda to browse through shows. He settled on one that looked vaguely entertaining, and the two sat there tiredly.

Simultaneously, they drifted into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmmmmthank you for reading! i'm glad so many people have enjoyed this so far. romance will maybe appear sometime in the... future. maybe. possibly. we'll see


	8. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after except instead of having sex the night before one found out that the other hates himself a lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whaaaaaaaat i haven't updated in almost a week? who says? because i don't, so
> 
> i had no clue how this chapter would go, because writing a morning after for this was kind of difficult.
> 
> I forgot to mention that we fuckin uh??? broke 100 kudos???? holy shit thank yall so much honestly

Waking up with someone right beside him was a strange feeling for Nagito. It took him a moment to recall the events of what had happened earlier that morning before he was hit with a wave of guilt. 

The fact that Hinata hadn’t left right then and there was astounding. He would have to apologize when Hinata woke up.

For the time being, Nagito was somewhat stuck where he was sitting, seeing as the two of them had fallen asleep right next to each other, and he wouldn’t want to disturb Hinata’s sleep should he move. Komaeda looked to the kitchen.

There was that vague figure again, standing there and watching them. Of course, its edges were fuzzy, so Komaeda couldn’t quite tell, but he just knew. He thought briefly about asking its name, before thinking better of it. Instead, he just stared at it, until he felt Hinata stir and yawn beside him.

“Ah, Hinata-kun. Good morning,” Komaeda greeted, hastily adding a last-ditch honorific, although nobody he knew really used them.

Hinata said an awkward, “Good morning,” back, shifting to stretch. Nagito contemplated for a moment, then sighed.

“Hinata-kun, I would be- ah, I would appreciate it if you would accept my formal apology. My conduct and behavior earlier this morning was, ah, embarrassing and rude. I humbly apologize and, well, I would understand if you...if you were to cut communication with me,” he said, mumbling the last part, forcing his voice to stay steady.

Hinata looked at him sympathetically, a look different from his usual exasperation, and replied, “It’s alright, Nagito. I...forgive you. I’m not going to stop talking to you. I think it’s, well, ah, obvious that you need someone to talk to. Just...I really hope you start to feel better about yourself.”

Nagito was sure shame showed in all his features, but he choked out an appreciative, “Thank you,” through his constricted throat, glancing away before continuing.

“Ah, I’m sure you’re hungry. I’ll make you some breakfast,” he said, quickly standing up and moving towards the kitchen. He hesitated walking through the door frame, the figure blocking his path. Komaeda knew, rationally, that it couldn’t be a solid object, could it?

Cautiously, he reached out a hand and was satisfied when it disappeared. Nagito walked in and opened his fridge, chastising himself for not being better prepared for company.

“Would you like some eggs, Hinata-kun?” Nagito called out. He heard a sound of affirmation and got to work making scrambled eggs. Not much later, he was finished, the smell making him lightheaded. He fixed a plate for Hinata and a smaller portion for himself.

He brought them into the living area and sat them on the table. Hinata put on the show they were watching earlier as background noise. They ate relatively silently, Komaeda taking longer to finish.

When they were both done, Hinata asked the question that Komaeda had been dreading to hear.

“So, Nagito...now may not be a good time, but, ah...what was with the, um, blood on the bathroom floor? If you’re...ready to share?” Hinata asked in a nervous tone. Nagito could feel his palms begin to sweat, and his ever-present lightheadedness made a strong return.

Hinata probably knew already, and was only asking to confirm his suspicions. Nagito shouldn’t have been as nervous -- as nauseous -- as he did at the idea of telling Hinata, _“Yeah, I cut myself a lot the night before we went out for lunch together. It’s no big thing, happens all the time.”_

“N-Nagito? Are you alright? You’re kind of shaking. It’s fine, you- you don’t need to tell me,” Hinata said, looking as if he was preparing to catch Komaeda if he passed out. Nagito failed to keep his stupid guilty tears back and to keep his voice steady.

“N-no, Hinata-kun, it’s, ah,” he sniffed, an unpleasant feeling building in his chest, “It’s, ah, well -- you’ve probably figured it out already -- but I… well, I, ah…” Nagito stopped before the end of his sentence, his brain blocking the words from making their way past his vocal chords.

“Nagito, you know you don’t have to tell me. It’s really fine, I think I unders-” 

“T-take off my jacket,” Nagito said quietly, sobs in his throat threatening to cry out.

“Wh-what?” Hinata questioned. 

“Take off my jacket,” Nagito repeated, with only ounces more of confidence. “I don’t want- I-I can’t do it m-myself,” he added, tears clouding his vision. Hesitantly, Hinata complied as Komaeda squeezed his eyes closed.

Nagito felt the cool air of his apartment hit exposed skin, and sucked in a shaky breath.

“Holy- Nagito- this...this is so…” Hinata said, trailing off. Nagito, not knowing what to say or do, rubbed his sore, bandaged arm. There were cuts outside of where he’d bandaged, leading up to just below his shoulder.

Although it was embarrassing, Nagito thought maybe this was what he wanted. For someone to know how he really felt. Maybe under better circumstances, of course, but it was still liberating for someone to know what was wrong with him.

“God, there are so...I didn’t know how many, but I...y-you did all this?” Hinata asked before immediately backtracking. “I-I mean, it’s just, not to, like, pry, but, there’s so many of them. I mean, you know that! But...I didn’t…” he sighed. “I’m sorry.” Nagito was taken aback.

“Ah! No, Hinata-kun, you really don’t need to apologize! I mean, there wasn’t anything you could have done, so please don’t blame yourself! This whole situation is just a lot of surprises for you- You don’t have to worry as much as you are, so please, ah, save your energy!” Nagito said, nearly cringing at how stupid those words sounded as soon as they left his mouth. Ah, that probably wasn’t anything near what Hinata-kun wanted to hear, either- he was always telling Komaeda to worry more about himself. He shut his eyes.

God, he was so stupid. How long had he known Hinata, and he still had to play a guessing game to figure out what not to say? Why wasn’t he better at interacting with people? It was such an inconvenience at the worst of times, and it was so goddamn frustrating. He hated it.

Nagito felt a warm sensation on his cheek. He opened his eyes, and it took him a moment to process what was going on.

Hinata’s hand was on Nagito’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear. The two stayed silent, staring at each other. Nagito felt his pulse speed up, and wasn’t happy that Hinata could probably feel it. 

Hinata had his hand on Komaeda’s cheek last night, but this felt different. Nagito wasn’t laughing- neither of them were saying anything. The silence they were surrounded by felt unequivocally intimate.

Nagito made himself blush with that thought, and Hinata did in turn, pulling his hand away. 

“I’m sorry, Nagito, I didn’t know what to do- you weren’t responding to what I was saying and I didn’t want to shout at you, s-so…” Hinata trailed off. _Of course_ , Nagito sighed, relieved, _That was the reason._ He didn’t want to admit to himself that he may have liked it.

“I-It’s quite alright, Hinata-kun, really,” Komaeda said in an attempt to ease any tension at all. 

“Ah- I, um, think I should head home. I wouldn’t want my parents to worry too much. Um, bye. See you Monday,” Hinata said, gathering his things. Nagito couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault, as things usually were. On his way out, Hinata-kun paused for a moment.

He turned and said, “Stay safe. Please,” before walking outside and closing the door. 

Nagito was glad Hinata wasn’t around to hear him sniffling and crying more afterward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I quite like how this turned out. A lot of this is thought-heavy, but it feels awkwardly written and uninspired. Or maybe that's just me hating my own work, who knows. I also suck so hard at relationship progression in my own opinion, so I may stumble through some stuff. 
> 
> Either way, I hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter! Hope you enjoyed, I've got more on the way soon. Please leave a comment or kudos, it really does help to get writers motivated. Thanks again, and bye for now!
> 
> Feel free to message me on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/foxofthedeep
> 
> (as in i encourage you to message me i'm so lonely)


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